OUR HOSPITABLE HOST AND HOSTESS IN THEIR SALON WHERE THEY ENTERTAINED US AT JERUSALEM
About the time we were in Constantinople, the new Turkish political force known the world over as the "Young Turks' movement," was just springing into life. The members of this body were eager to meet and mix with visitors and obtain their views and opinions of the probabilities of success, and a general endorsement of their work; so it was no trouble to have them visit us on the Cork, as she lay at anchor at the mouth of the Golden Horn. We conversed with them freely and listened to the recital of their wrongs and how they proposed to right and correct them. Political corruption and "graft," they said, were rampant everywhere, destroying the country and blighting every enterprise and industry. A Young Turk told me that many manufactories would be started were it not that the rapacity of the horde of petty officials was such that all must get a share of the spoils before a license could be granted, and that paying this toll would amount to much more than the cost of the factory. From the sultan down to the smallest custom house official, all must get a squeeze out of the victim whom they meet in any kind of business. The appellation, "The Sick Man of the East," presents in brief the picture of an unwholesome looking man, who is allowed to sit tight on his throne and plunder his people because the Powers can't agree on the division of his empire. When one looks at Abdul in his carriage one sees at a glance a coffee-colored knave who, when he gazes at the crowd from behind the mask of his face, is simply engaged in scheming a new twist in "graft," and wondering whether or not they can stand it and live. The Sultan is an expert pistol-shot and has killed many native visitors without the slightest proof that they were about to do him harm; if they made a suspicious movement of any kind he shot them down in cold blood and had them thrown into the Bosphorus. Abdul had an eye on the main chance and did not consider it wise to have all his eggs in one basket, so he deposited the hundred million dollars he wrung from his people—what is called his "private fortune"—in banks all over the world. The Young Turks are after this "pile," and he is not likely to retain it all and save his neck from the rope. Perhaps his most horrible crime was instigating the annihilation of 360,000 Armenians: this act alone places him on the pedestal of infamy for all time. But the pedestal is rocking, and his hour is near at hand. His territory in Europe has shrunk from 230,000 to 60,000 square miles. In a little while there won't be much left to divide, but there are other forces at work, and these serious natives tell you that nothing can now stop the progress of the task they are engaged in and that the days of the sultan are numbered. We believed in their sincerity and determination, and wished them every success. As a wind-up it will perhaps amuse the reader to note the high-sounding list of titles that the sultan—this "cutpurse and king of shreds and patches"—has given to himself. Here they are, all fresh roasted, with a few added words to fill in the interstices of his portrait:
THE SULTAN'S TITLES
"Abdul Hamid, Beloved Sultan of Sultans, Emperor of Emperors;"
"The Shadow of God upon the Earth;"
"Brother of the Sun"—(Times and Tribune);
"Dispenser of Crowns"—(half-crowns and tu'penny-bits)—"to Those who Sit upon Thrones"—(and gunny-bags);
"Sovereign of Constantinople"—(and of all its mangy, flea-bitten dogs);